Sympathy for the Demons (Promised to the Demons #1) - Lidiya Foxglove Page 0,3

“My lord,” he said. “Didn’t your father say that you would know when it was time? And don’t you think—“

“I’m sure I know my own thoughts much better than you do,” I hissed, putting a hand around his neck. “Tread carefully, Uram.”

“I apologize, my lord.”

“Listen to me carefully. I don’t want a wife. I don’t want to see a ridiculous parade of whores cross my threshold ever again. And I will outlive you by hundreds of years. An heir is not necessary anytime soon. My life is extremely satisfying. Please put my new suit away carefully for tomorrow, as I think I will go fuck all the nymphs in the forest tomorrow.”

I wasn’t sure why I even said that. I had no interest in actually doing it. I suppose I was trying to prove my virility and lust for life to my own pathetic servant.

Shameful.

If I were really the demon I aspired to be, I supposed I would take great pleasure in a nymph orgy tonight, and then I would screw the maids while I was at it. Instead, I feared I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Still, it would give me an excuse for a long ride through the swamp. Perhaps I would make camp somewhere completely alone for one night. Maybe that would clear my head. The roasted boar could wait until I got back. At least a good solitary hunting trip would keep every day from feeling entirely the same.

Chapter Two

Jenny

For twenty years, my life had been the same. I woke up in Jenny’s room, dressed in Jenny’s clothes, and became Jenny.

Well, not that they were actually Jenny’s clothes, because I had grown out of those a long time ago, but I conjured new ones that looked just the same. I had annoyingly large breasts these days that didn’t look quite right in the girlish dresses, but I knew I couldn’t dress any other way. I brushed my hair and swept it back with a ribbon so it wouldn’t get in the way of my cooking and cleaning. Then I looked out my window that faced the bay. It was the only time I got to see the wider world until evening.

Then I went to the kitchen and lit the fire right around sunrise. Mother—who was not my mother, of course, because I didn’t have one, but insisted on me calling her that—always liked the same breakfast. Two eggs and a piece of toast. And for dinner she was content with a stew. So everything else was up to me, and I already had some idea of what to make.

Yesterday Mrs. Hawkins came into town and brought a huge jar of golden honey. When I unscrewed the top, it smelled like an orange grove. I dipped a finger in and took a long lick.

No one cared what I did, really, as long as I didn’t leave the house, I never broke the illusion that I was the real Jenny, and I kept things running smoothly. Mother woke up and took to her chair looking out over the bay on the balcony, where she picked up her sewing basket and started working. I brought her the breakfast and coffee that I conjured up. The coffee was just an illusion, so it didn’t really have caffeine in it, although she thought it was real.

“Thank you, Jenny,” she said, with haunted eyes and an earnest voice that always sounded edgy.

“You’re welcome.”

“It’s warm today, isn’t it.”

“A little bit.” She talked about the weather and made note of who was taking a boat out, and she complained about people in town who had too much money or too much power and weren’t nice to her yesterday when she went to the market. I smiled and tried to listen. “You enjoy,” I said.

Mother was all right if I didn’t upset her. It was sort of like juggling a stack of china in all different shapes.

I checked on the oven, feeling the air inside with my hand and knowing right away if it was just right. It needed a little more heat. I whispered a spell and shut the door, then I gathered up all the ingredients.

Soon it was ready and I boiled sugar, cinnamon and the grated rind of one fresh orange on the stovetop, along with two overflowing teaspoons of that beautiful honey. I stirred and stirred and then I took it from the stovetop and added brandy and sherry and set it aside.

I went to the courtyard for a little break. The house on